The Fourth Pillar
by EJWhelan86
Summary: Before the rise of the Dark Lord, before Harry and the Potters, a world existed where the sidelines were unclear and the motives of players from all parts of it were poorly monitored. In this seeming Dark Age, four beacons shone for Europe, each a pillar to make firm their region of influence, and with each pillar of light came a cloud of darkness, enfolding it, waiting to strike.
1. Murdoch: 1906

**Prešpurk, Austria-Hungary**

1906

Catriona Murdoch clutched a chilled mug of her precious Irish tea between two frozen hands and lifted it to her lips; miraculously, the liquid was still lukewarm even though the temperature was dropping close to zero Celsius. Her hood shielded her from the snow, now falling. Aiden had gone out on the last reconnaissance mission, and he was not yet back to relieve her. It wasn't as if Prešpurk was among the more dangerous outposts; that wasn't the matter. The matter was that her brother and she had been hired to keep the Lord Davishkov and Lady Davishkovna safe. The _other_ matter was that between them Aiden was still an amateur sorcerer without much more than a third level knowledge of incantations and enchantments. Nonetheless, Sir Thorald Darev controlled them and all battalions stationed at Prešpurk. Now, of course, all Catriona wanted was to complete the mission, get the Davishkovs back to safety and then take her furlough back in Ireland. Ideally, Aiden would be with her on furlough, but he'd decided to ask for duties in the vanguard, if a war was to start. Catriona didn't like the trend of late because it was a straight line bending toward unrest: the Slovaks were deeply unimpressed with the Hungarians while the pesky Czechs were beginning to get frustrated with their Austrian overlords, and that grumbling was on the surface in the Muggle world. In the Wizard world, Austria had essentially broken their union agreement with Hungary and that had left the Czechs in turmoil over whether to remain allied with Austria or to break off. Aiden didn't think they could survive as a separate and independent nation, so the Northern Council swept in – the reason they were stationed here at all – and was having conferences with both the Austrians and the Czechs. In poetic terms, the world was becoming darker and colder.

Catriona heard his footsteps before she saw her brother appear around the corner and crouch beside her. She passed him the mug and hunkered down. Aiden frowned as he swallowed the tea. "It's cold."

"What did you expect, A?" Catriona answered.

"Well, you know magic better than I do," he protested.

"Yeah, and draw attention to ourselves, that's a good idea."

Aiden shrugged and took another sip. "It's still cold. You couldn't have warmed it a little?"

"No."

"Not even for your baby brother?"

"No."

"Fine." Aiden said, pouring the tea out. "What good is magic anyway?"

Catriona ignored her brother, a bit frustrated with his impetuosity. "What did you learn on the streets?"

"Nothing new," Aiden growled. "If they're going to rebel against the Hungarians, don't you think they'd be planning it?"

"Yes," Catriona answered. "But not in the open."

"Well, there's more evidence from the Muggles that something is going to happen. Not now, I don't think, but eventually." Aiden said.

"Well, it's like that at home though too, isn't it?" Catriona challenged.

"Why are you thinking about home out here? This place is nothing like home." Aiden challenged back.

"Because it's where I'd rather be," Catriona snapped, taking the empty mug back from her brother. "I'm going in." Aiden said nothing. Catriona sighed, got up and adjusted her uniform before looking down at her brother. "You'll be okay?" She asked.

"Why on earth would you ask me that, Cat?" Aiden snapped at her.

"Not a bloody clue," she said as she strode off down the alley, out into the street and found herself staring across the river Danube in the breath of morning that comes before first light. If all things were successful at the palace this evening, they could go back to Kyiv, issue her travel papers and send her off to the West for furlough. The streets were quiet between the foot of Braslav Castle and the Danube: except for the usual vagabonds sleeping on the streets, this was a ghost world. It was beautiful in its own right, but it wouldn't ever please Catriona because it wasn't Ireland. Home had so much more that made her heart beat than the intrigue of this foreign place. She thought about how this experience with the militaristic arm of the Northern Council had given her so much insight into the issues ripping apart her beloved homeland. Foreign occupation was foreign occupation, no matter how any politician – wizard or muggle – chose to spin it, and the occupation of Ireland by the woefully unqualified British occupiers was more than just an insult to the great emerald island kingdom. It had seemed that every day, when she was able to receive messages from her personal crew of couriers, their contents reflected the attitude of the occupied Slovaks here: disgruntled, angry and oppressively impoverished. Both the Hungarians and the British were raping these mystical lands of their virtues and plowing through centuries of traditions that they couldn't possibly understand. When would it end, the imperialism of brutish occupiers? War was not an option for her magical brethren, especially since their Minister of Magic had stepped down to the Minister in London – perhaps too readily. On the muggle side, all they had for them was a splintered association of rebels scattered across the island and in remote positions in London and New York. Such divisions were discouraging for any collective movement toward freedom.

When the morning came, Catriona rose from the uncomfortable bed she rented in a second floor apartment, decorated sparingly, and went into the larger second room where she found Aiden passed out on a small couch. He must have been relieved shortly after the 8 o'clock patrol went out. He'd have been asleep less than two hours, in other words, so though tempting, she decided not to wake him. Pulling out her wand, she conjured a nice Irish breakfast of sausages, dark (and hot) tea, soda bread with raisins and creamy Irish butter, and a bowl of steaming steel-cut Irish oats. "Go big or go home," she said with a smile, tucking into the meal. She was interrupted shortly after digging in by a single knock on the door. Aiden jumped to his feet as if he'd never been asleep. He got to the door before Catriona could get up, and after he opened it, the messenger slipped in and closed it behind him. He was breathing heavily and his pupils were dilated in fear.

"It's begun," he said in a shaking voice accented in his native Russian. "The Hungarians have come, armed, a secret battalion has the castle surrounded, comprised of the vagabonds we overlooked. They aren't muggles." Catriona shuddered.

"Evgeniy," she said getting to her feet and pulling out a chair. "Sit down and tell us what you know." But the boy shook his head.

"We have no time. The Slovaks don't know they're under siege. And Lord Davishkov and Lady Davishkovna are still in residence at Braslav. It's…" he took a deep stuttered breath and finished what they already knew. "It's going to be a massacre whatever way we look at it. But, there is a portkey just across the bridge. It's for emergencies. It'll take us all back to London. I'm supposed to raise the alarm at the Ministry of Magic there. We have to go now." Aiden was already in action but Catriona frowned.

"Why London?"

"The British are the only Ministry with enough gold and strength to oppose this… this…" Evgeniy struggled for the word.

"This _war_ ," Aiden finished for him, shoving a large overcoat into his arms and another into Catriona's. "It doesn't matter where we're going, if we want to save the Lord and Lady Davishkov, we need to go _now_."

"I'm not going to England for help," Catriona said defiantly, throwing down the overcoat. "I'm staying."

"Don't be such a stubborn headed fool, Cat," Aiden snapped at her, but he could see it was no use. She sat down and that punctuated her statement. " _Fine_. We'll go alone. Feel free to die here, sis." He said at her angrily.

"At least I'll be free," she gave back to him. Aiden clenched his jaw and grabbed Evgeniy by the forearm, pulling him toward the door.

"Let's go, Yev." He said, still angry. Evgeniy protested but not strongly.

"You'll be sure to die if you stay, Catriona," Evgeniy protested at the door. "Don't do this!" He had begun to scream as Aiden pushed him through the door and tried to close it. Evgeniy stuck out a foot and stopped the door from being closed. "Don't do this, Cat!" With one magnificent push, Aiden threw Evgeniy against the opposite wall and slammed the door shut behind him. Catriona could hear them struggling, but it didn't last long: there was a loud thud as she guessed Evgeniy's body hit the floor, and then all sounds of struggle ended. Aiden's heavy footfalls receded as he marched away from the apartment. Catriona was tempted to go to the window and see him out in the street, but she stayed where she was stubbornly. She had no intention of leaving this spot, even for a final glimpse of her brother. Instead, she began to plot how to achieve the same measure of success within the country. She was a spy, after all, and she knew how to conduct covert missions. This one, unlike others, was so covert it was clandestine, and there was no one else running point but her. She'd need a new identity first – of all things to do – and she'd need to brush up on her Slavic and Hungarian.

"So much for a furlough home," she sighed, disappointedly resigned to the fate she'd chosen. Her breakfast was bound to be the last piece of Ireland she would cherish for a while. Leaving all else to be worked on later, Catriona Murdoch – soon to be a dead rebel spy for the Northern Council – dug into her breakfast again on the morning that would go down in history and create so great a splash that her great-great-great-granddaughter, a beautiful golden haired orphan girl from America called Katherine Stark, would awake one morning in her soon-to-be castle room in Norway and feel its first little ripples across more than a century. But she didn't know any of that; she had not the foresight. All Catriona Murdoch – soon to be the first of a long line of champions called Lavinia Olekseva – could see was her final opportunity to indulge in the rich cooking tradition of her people, thousands of miles apart from them. In a scant half hour, while sitting there reading the latest news printing, Catriona Murdoch would be one of many victims in an explosion that would destroy half a block of apartment houses and shops along the river Danube, a final thrust leading the subversive wizard world into full world war. All she had to do was finish her breakfast, because the world could wait until after a good cup of Irish tea.


	2. Stark: 2026

Bratislava, Slovakia

2026

Katherine preferred to be called by her middle name, Jaimie. She hadn't known her parents (they'd given her away when she was young) and she'd hardly known the rest of her family (primarily shady characters across the board), but she'd known how to substitute for what she didn't have in her seven years at Hogwarts. She lay in a bed in a tower in the Braslav Castle, one of several properties operated by the covert but well-respected Northern Council, and reflected on how she'd gotten here. She, Jaimie Stark, had _no right_ to be living her own Cinderella story, but the day she'd chosen to take pity on the great oaf of a boy, called Rickard Reynolds, from Ravenclaw, her own house, was the day her life changed. She played with the engagement ring she'd been getting used to wearing since the official proposal had happened last winter. They both knew that a Handfasting (the term for a wedding in the world of the Northern Council) couldn't happen until next spring, when both Jaimie and Rickard were officially graduates of the famous wizarding school in the Great British highlands, and even considering that they were neither of them yet seen as adults in the wizarding world (she was _almost_ there, being just shy of 17 by a scant three months) the seemingly lengthy engagement felt like a good match for them. At any rate, Jaimie had a lot to learn about becoming a woman of the Reynolds clan. Dame Margrytte Olsttadr regularly reminded her. Nonetheless, Jaimie was very happy with Rickard; he'd become a knight of the Northern Council (more or less an honorary title) upon his Coming of Age ceremony in December, and then he'd be lord over his own castle, where she was invited to make her home when they graduated from Hogwarts.

Sometimes, wonderful as it seemed, it felt like too much. She was _not_ born to this sort of life, and that she had managed to make Dame Margrytte gasp twice the other night at dinner (making her gasp once was a formidable feat) when she announced her desire to explore a job in the Ministry, that had essentially confirmed for them all that she was going to handle the role of Lady Reynolds (eventually) in an entirely new fashion. Demure, graceful, commanding: none of these described how Jaimie identified herself, though each of them described the last string of ladies holding the title she would inherit someday. She'd never hunted this sort of life as other girls might have done; it had come to her one evening when she found Rickard Reynolds hiding in the third floor girls' bathroom. He'd immediately been afraid of her when she came in and saw him there. He was a tall boy, big and strong, the sort that might have a long career as a thug or a bouncer, but when she'd found him, he might have been a small little boy for his courage. Maybe that was when she'd found a soft spot for him. In the present, Jaimie shrugged and continued to play with the ring. It was a beautiful white gold band, shaped into two twisting vines that ended in diamond studded leaves flourishing up to hold a breathtakingly simple princess-cut blue sapphire in the center. Engraved on the underside were Jaimie's initials.

There came a light tap on the door that broke Jaimie's attention from her ring and her reverie. Without waiting to be invited, a house elf entered the room carrying with her a nice tray stuffed with breakfast food. Jaimie blushed: she wasn't entirely used to this ritual either.

"Aslaug," she said as sweetly as she could. The house elf nodded without making eye contact. "Which of these would you recommend?" Aslaug blushed as much as a house elf might blush, and then she set the tray down and went to work picking the Danish pastries, Greek yogurt with honey drizzling, and a nice soft ball of goat cheese, putting them onto a plate and offering them to Jaimie. With a clever grin, Jaimie feigned a gasp that caused Aslaug to look up at her for the briefest of seconds. And in that rare moment of eye contact, Jaimie seized her chance. "Oh Aslaug, I can't _possibly_ eat all of this myself. I order you to choose the food you would like to eat and leave me the rest." If Aslaug was ever known to smile, this was the moment of truth. She selected the goat cheese and a strawberry and cream Danish pastry leaving a lemon and mint pastry and the yogurt with honey for Jaimie. As she set off to run away, Jaimie called her back. "Please, don't let me eat alone, Aslaug." Halting immediately but not without a bigger grin, the house elf retraced her steps and sat on the bed where Jaimie patted for her. Jaimie knew not to push her luck and try to get any information out of her quirky but quickly beloved house elf, so she attempted only small talk that required little more than a "yes, milady" or "no, milady". Instead, Jaimie told Aslaug a little of what she knew of herself.

"I don't suppose you've ever been to America, have you Aslaug?"

"No, milady."

"Well, that's alright. It _is_ a big country, after all. You know, I was _raised_ there, though I was _born_ in Yorkshire. Have you been to Yorkshire?"

"Once, milady."

"That's okay too. I only remember the winter and getting my feet stuck in a bog on the moors. I remember America the best. I grew up in a few cities, but the one I always returned to was an ancient place called Boston."

"Yes, milady." Aslaug blushed and grinned, vigorously attacking her pastry in an effort to keep her mouth occupied from talking.

"I also lived in a big city called Seattle, where it rained a lot. And I lived in a bigger city called Los Angeles where it hardly rained at all. And then also in a coastal city called San Diego, and another up the coast called Oakland. All those places were in a state called California. I remember Seattle a little better than California, I think that's because it was a long time I lived there, and the overcast weather seems so much like a primer to living back in England." She took a bite from her food, chewed thoughtfully and then pressed on. "Becoming a witch was a shock for me. There is a school in the area around Boston where American witches and wizards go… _like_ Hogwarts, but not the same. I believe it's called the American Academy of Magic, but I also remember them calling it Salem College. I don't know which is right. I do know that a lot of wizards and witches attend it though. I didn't know what it meant to be a witch until I got to Hogwarts, and then it seemed like I had a lot more to learn, but I'm so glad I went because I can't imagine my life without Hogwarts in it."

"Yes, milady," Aslaug said, finishing off her breakfast.

"You must have been hungry," Jaimie grinned. "You've finished before me."

"Yes, milady," Aslaug's grin faded so quickly it seemed as though it hadn't ever truly been there.

"Well, I guess there's no reason to keep you from your work then. You may go," Jaimie said with a sigh. Aslaug hopped off the bed and scampered away, a few crumbs flying from the sides of her mouth. When she had gone, Jaimie laughed respectfully, impressed with how much she'd managed to get out of her house elf this morning. At this rate, she decided, she might get the house elf to look at her for more than five seconds. They had time; Aslaug was training to become Jaimie's personal house elf attendant, and she would be paired with Jaimie until the end of her life. Her duties would be not only to serve but also to protect Jaimie, and that meant Aslaug would travel with her mistress wherever she went. In time, Jaimie hoped, she would become a confidante. With these thoughts, Jaimie finished her portion of breakfast and slipped out of bed to begin the day.

Dame Margrytte Olsttadr was a regal sight, even in the morning. She stood just shy of 6'3 and stood tall and straight to emphasize her height. She wore a gown beneath her overcoat – laced with fur on the insides and around the collar – and her golden hair curled naturally in ringlets from her head to her shoulders. She was beginning to show signs of aging on her face – deep lines stretching across the canvas of her face – but her acute mind, sharp as ever, kept her seemingly young. She didn't need make-up, being graced with a natural beauty that it seemed most Scandinavian women possessed, and she embellished her outfits in a minimalist fashion choosing a single set of earrings and a necklace without too much sparkle. On her fingers she only bore her engagement and wedding rings on the same finger. There were many stories about this rising matriarch of the Olsttadr clan, but the one that held most popular across the board was that story concerning her Handfasting with Lord Philip Reynolds. It was said that they had performed the proper ritual elements of the ceremony and at the moment of the hand-fasting, the Olsttadr woman had raised herself up to her full height – eye-to-eye with Philip Reynolds himself – and had called for a wand. "In lieu of the traditional rope-binding of the Handfasting," most stories reported her saying, "I propose an even stronger bond: the Unbreakable Vow." And thus the ritual proceeded, each partner making their vow to each other and sealing it with the powerful ancient spell. The marks on her arm made the story most believable; whenever Jaimie met her future mother-in-law, she couldn't help but look upon the thin but apparent twisting line that looped around the Dame's right wrist, criss-crossing just below her palm.

Dame Margrytte greeted Jaimie in the Great Hall of Braslov Castle. She tapped on the empty leather-bound board in her hand and words began to rise out of the leather binding. "Our schedule," she announced, sharply. "We will both go from Bratislava to Smolenický Zámok. We will visit the students at Národný Inštitút Magického Remesiel, and you will present a medal of honour to the Headmistress in front of the school. You will have to say a few words about her commitment to the excellence of Slovakian magic craft education. I have a speech prepared for you. We are going by train so that they can assemble and receive us on the platform in Smolenice. Is this clear?" Jaimie nodded. "Good. Immediately after we will be invited to tea in Smolenice, most likely with a small selection of students. You will converse with the students and fraternize, but don't be too friendly. We wish to encourage them to be the best they can be, _not_ to be the best. Is _this_ clear?" Jaimie nodded again. "Great. Immediately following this, we will board the train again and return here, where we will rehearse your presentation to the Slovakian Premier. Do you remember her name, Miss Stark?"

"She is Miss Katka Olegsdotter," Jaimie recited.

"Good. You have a good memory, Katherine." The Dame responded. Jaimie knew that whenever Dame Margrytte used her given name, it meant that she was not impressed with Jaimie's delivery. Now Jaimie had to adjust the way she said the Premier's name. She wanted to roll her eyes but she had learned many months ago that it didn't accomplish anything for her except a scolding. Instead, to beat this draconian and often disapproving matriarch, Jaimie would have to exceed her expectations; though Dame Margrytte's expectations were low, her standards were very high: anything short of perfect, Jaimie had learned, was failure, no matter how close. Improvement was not measured or factored into the equation: it was perfection or failure. "And finally, we will dine with Miss Olegsdotter, and my sister will be joining us. And that concludes the day. You have free time after we return to Bratislava following tea, and then again after supper."

"Will I be allowed to see Rickard?" Jaimie asked hopefully, but she received a scornful look.

"When you return to school, you can see him as often as you like." Again, Jaimie wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she bit her tongue and began to plot how to find time to see her loving fiancé. One aspect of the day did seem to please her: Dame Margrytte's sister, Lady Kiriya Olsttadr-Davishkovna. Lady Kiriya, unlike her older sister, was pleasant, approachable and generously friendly. Although she was the last Lady Davishkovna (her only son, Oden, had been born under dubious circumstances and therefore took the family name Olsttadr), many who knew regarded her as the greatest since the War of the Wands, over a century earlier. Lady Kiriya embodied the Davishkov family as it had been in its prime: graceful, clever and kind. If this day was to have a moment in it that shone for Jaimie, it would be the chance to sup with Lady Kiriya.


End file.
